I don’t write fiction in my blog. I don’t really write creative nonfiction, either. I write recipes, and sometimes, I run out of ideas. I get recipe writers’ block, I suppose. Other writers run out of ideas, too. They might write a few pages of utter shite, crumple it up and throw it away, but I can’t bake a terrible cake and then waste it. No way! Brainstorming wastes no food. I can’t taste it, but I have a pretty good idea of what flavors work together well, sorta well, and not at all well.
Recipe writer’s block is like when I look at seasonal ingredients and ideas for inspiration, and I find nothing but the same old ideas. The same handful of recipes, done over and over again with a different garnish. Speaking of things overused, here’s a phrase: There’s nothing new under the sun. And it’s true. For now. I just know I won’t be the one to come up with the Next Big Thing in recipes, and I’m 100% fine with that. That’s not my goal. What I bring to the table (heh) is – I hope – simplicity, realness, some education, and a bit of entertainment.
Other times, when I am writing a story for fun or an essay about something, I get this feeling that there are all of these ideas dancing around in my head. Some of them try to get into some sort of order, but the other ideas start a game of Red Rover, and there is chaos once again. Plus, the damned things won’t wriggle out of my brain and through my fingertips so I can put them on paper.
When writer’s block strikes, depression increases, and I am very harsh with myself. I doubt my creativity, my talent. Then I think about all the ideas I’ve had in the past. I’ve started cookery book projects before. The ideas just hadn’t seemed right. The organization and content were lacking. When the current idea struck, I nearly lit up like a Yuletide tree. Now I just have to keep up that motivation and inspiration and…
I might need some encouragement from friends now and again. I hope they don’t mind my recipe-related ramblings. For that matter, I hope none of my cakes turn out terrible! I wouldn’t want to waste a failed experiment, but I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to eat it, either. Perhaps a respectful burial would be in order?